


Kisses Between Kings

by abstractconcept



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-11
Updated: 2008-06-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 14:02:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in Voyage of the Dawn Treader. Caspian and Ed are feeling lonely and comfort each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kisses Between Kings

Peter grew up first.

It only made sense. Peter was older--several years older. But for some reason, as a child, Edmund always thought he’d catch Peter up. It was only fair, after all. Peter got to be the oldest for a while, and then it’d be Edmund’s turn, right? Only it _wasn’t_ fair. Peter always got to be first, always got to be the oldest.

And now it was unfair in a different sort of way.

Now Edmund was in Narnia, and Peter was the one left out. Of course, it was all Peter’s fault for growing up, but Edmund couldn’t help but miss him a little.

Ever since he could remember, Edmund had both looked up to and resented Peter. Peter the Magnificent—yes, it wasn’t an exaggeration. But now Edmund was grown up, too—grown up a little, anyhow—and since his simmering insecurities had died down, Edmund was finding that he missed Peter.

A bit, at any rate.

Edmund looked up at the stars slowly wheeling overhead. Sparks from the campfires leapt into the sky, joining the cold white pinpricks in the night. Edmund couldn’t recognize any of the constellations anymore. There was no Leopard, no Orion, no Faun dancing cosily overhead.

“If you squint, that one looks a bit like my Uncle Miraz,” Caspian remarked, pointing at one tightly-clustered group of stars. “Doesn’t it? Sort of spotty and scowling.”

Edmund laughed. “Yes, have Drinian make a note of it somewhere,” he suggested. “The Usurper.”

He couldn’t quite make Caspian out in the firelight, but somehow he knew the prince—no, king, was smiling. It was nice to see Caspian smile. It was nice to see him relax, not just after the adventures they’d gone through, but after his uncle’s betrayal.

They continued to smile at one another. Lucy was probably asleep by now, poor kid, and Edmund could hear the sailors singing cheerful, if somewhat bawdy songs nearby. Up on the crest of a dune, he could just make out Reepicheep and Eustace, leaning together in the moonlight. Edmund sighed. Even Eustace had found someone to take comfort in, here in this strange place so far from home.

“You miss your family,” Caspian guessed.

Edmund swallowed hard. Sometimes Caspian was just like Peter—-he had that unerring instinct for social situations, that ability to read people which Edmund envied so much.

“Sort of,” he allowed.

He didn’t miss ‘his family.’ He hadn’t missed his family since his father’d gone off to the war. He hadn’t _had_ a family since then—-well, he had, but it was different. He’d grown up. He’d grown up and Peter’d grown up and they’d all grown up together, and then they had to be kids again (what a horrible loss of control that was! Edmund often wondered what Aslan meant by it) and then Peter’d been banished and—-and Edmund had been allowed to return to Narnia.

But he sometimes felt as if _he’d_ been the one left behind.

Peter didn’t _need_ Narnia anymore. Peter grew up.

Maybe Peter didn’t need Edmund anymore—-didn’t need the responsibility, didn’t want to have to go haring off looking out for him, didn’t want Edmund crawling into his bed in the black of night and squirming up close—-

“Not really,” Edmund amended loudly, as though it would help.

“It must be nice, having people you can always depend on,” Caspian said wistfully, like he wasn’t even paying attention.

“Someone to boss you around,” Edmund said, sounding like the grumpy child he’d been so long ago. But Peter _had_ bossed him around—-Peter had tried to be everyone’s father—Perfect Peter with his Perfect Smile and his Perfect Hair and his Perfect _Perfection_ —-

“You _do_ miss him,” Caspian laughed. “I can tell.”

“Maybe.”

“Why do you think . . . you were sent back?”

“To learn something else,” Edmund said truthfully. “Or—-to look out for Lucy.”

Caspian nodded. “You keep each other strong—you Pevensies,” he noted.

Edmund frowned up at the stars. Had they kept each other strong? But of course they had. Through it all, however bad it got, they’d still been a family. Even when Edmund had done the worst thing that could possibly be done, Peter had still taken him back, still looked out for him, still loved him. That was what brothers did. They were strong for one another.

“Yes, we do that,” he said in a quiet voice.

That was Peter’s job. He was the eldest. He was the one who went first. He got the first tastes of glory, but he also faced most of the first trials. He was never afraid, not that Edmund ever heard. He was like Father—he bravely went off to war and did absolutely everything he could for his family—-he was _better_ than Father, because he never left his family behind, never made Mother cry, always let Edmund crawl into bed, always curled his strong, protective arm around Edmund’s body, always wiped away the hot tears spilling down Edmund’s face, always willing to give soft words and rough kisses and—

“I envy you,” Caspian said, his voice almost a whisper.

Ed blinked the darkness away. Caspian had to do it all himself. Caspian didn’t have Peter’s firm hand to guide him, couldn’t snuggle up to Peter in the dead of the night, pretending to be half-asleep and unconscious of his own body, never had Peter rest his chin against his head, never felt Peter’s warm fingers slipping generously into his pants . . .

Edmund rolled onto his side, only a little to surprised to find Caspian right there, his nose only inches away, his wide eyes even wider than Edmund had imagined.

“You don’t have to be envious,” Ed told him earnestly, reaching a hand out to touch Caspian’s face. “You’re a good king.”

Caspian blinked a little, his eyes filling. Really, Caspian was one of the most emotional blokes Edmund had ever met, but Ed couldn’t find it in him to object. Instead he leaned up, kissing Caspian softly, the pop and crackle of the fire covering their soft moans. Caspian needed this. Someday he’d find a queen and a wife, but now, Caspian was alone, with only Edmund as his true equal.

Caspian pushed Ed down with one hand, scootching up to him in the darkness so they could get close together, warmth against warmth in the cool night air.

“Is this all right?” Caspian asked, voice full of sincere concern.

Edmund had to bite back a smile, but how _could_ he tell Caspian that he and Peter used to do this on an almost nightly basis back home, had found the magic of Narnia in each other’s spit-slick hands?

“Yes,” Edmund assured him.

It had been hard, too hard, to grow down again, to be banished from liquor and politics and all the adult concerns, to be sent to bed at dusk and patted on the head and treated like children. The least they could do was respect each other, the least they could do was to find that one, grown up thing that no one could take away, not if they were careful and quiet, anyhow.

Caspian kissed him gently. “Are you sure it’s all right? It does not seem . . . befitting a king,” he added, struggling with the ethics.

Edmund kissed him back, feeling the soft sand at his back and the fresh breeze that poured over the island. “We are both kings,” he reminded Caspian. “What better way . . . to be sure there is no coercion, than for kisses to be between kings?” he added.

Caspian bit his lip for a moment, dark and brooding, before nodding in satisfaction and leaning forward again.

They didn’t undress. They only peeled back layers of clothing, just enough. If someone came by, one of the sailors, or Lucy, or Eustace, they could cover themselves quickly enough.

The evening was cool, but Caspian’s breath was warm against Ed’s cheek. He felt Caspian’s hand—his fingers long and elegant and not near so strong or sure as Peter’s—wrapping around him, stroking him, and Edmund did his best to return the pleasure.

Caspian was a sight; his hair was wild, his lips parted just so, his eyes holding a spark of some long-banked desire, and Edmund kissed him hard, kissed him hard and kept his eyes closed, smiling when Caspian gasped and Ed felt warmth flood over his fingertips.

Caspian continued to caress him, but Ed tactfully pushed his hand away. “That’s all right,” he murmured. “That’s enough.”

Caspian looked down at him, his face blank with surprise. “That’s enough?” he repeated quietly.

Ed smiled up at him, reaching up to twirl a curly lock around his finger. “That’s enough,” he assured the king with gentle fondness. It _was_ enough. Somehow Ed knew that after this adventure, he’d go home to Peter, and he wouldn’t need Narnia anymore, either.

Edmund was growing up.

Perhaps part of growing up was realizing that he needed Peter’s firm hand.

And no one else’s—not even gentle, handsome Caspian’s—-would do.

* * *


End file.
